


Origins

by dragonswithjetpacks



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Beatrice Cousland, Get to know Beatrice Cousland, Korcari Wilds, Mostly Dialogue, The Joining, The Tower - Freeform, The Wilds, basically just alistair and beatrice in the beginning, maybe some cool stuff, sort of boring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-17
Updated: 2017-06-17
Packaged: 2018-11-15 02:36:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11221515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonswithjetpacks/pseuds/dragonswithjetpacks
Summary: Beatrice Cousland was unsure of her future. But when she was torn from her home, she had little choice. And in hopes that she would somehow find herself among the chaos of Ostagar, she found something else.





	1. Smoke and Fire

**Author's Note:**

> This is five chapters of Beatrice's origin. It starts from the moment she left Highever to the moment she exits Flemeth's hut. It's not my favorite bit, but there are some good pieces here beneath Bioware's dialogue. I struggled a lot with this and as you can tell, I did't really go back and edit a whole lot after I filled in. Which, if anyone is interested in being my beta, please just send me a message. If not on here, on Tumblr.

The fires burned, billowing smoke into the sky. She looked up to see nothing but grey above her. Her cheeks were wet from the tears pouring down, allowing the ash floating through the air to stick to her face. Everything she had ever known was lost. It was all gone. Her home was burning and all that she grew up with was turning to ruin in the fires over the hills. There would be no more books to read in her father's study. Her mother would never braid her hair again. And she would never be able to tease the soldiers for not being able to catch her as she ran down the alleys of Highever. The memories flooded through her mind of the way freshly baked bread tasted, the flirtatious touch of the guard she fancied, and the warmth she felt beneath her thick blankets on winter mornings. There was nothing else she could hold onto from her home other than what was on her back. And she fell to her knees as more tears fell from the point of her chin.

Her day had been perfectly normal. There was nothing completely unusual at all. She spent the morning practicing. Then refueled for breakfast. She had intended to go back to the courtyard, but was quickly reminded that today was a special day. Fergus was leaving to the South. Her mother needed her aid and presence, whichever was more important. And the Howe's were their guests that afternoon.

_The Howe's were their traitors._

She felt Duncan grasp the back of her arm firmly to pull her onto her feet. But she jerked it away and remained where she knelt. Even from this distance, she could hear the roar of the flames. She knew she could not run back. It was only logical that there was nothing she could go back to. Taking a deep breath, she tried to contain herself. But deep down, she wanted to wait for the fires to subside so she could search for the remains of her life.

"We need to go," Duncan said loudly, hoping she would somehow be able to hear him over the sound of the destruction of her home.

"Give me a moment," she spat over her shoulder.

The time she took to mourn was cut short when sounds of rustling came from the brush below. Duncan's hand reached for his sword, but Beatrice was too weary to move. Something large was making it's way up the hill. And then suddenly, it burst nose first through the bushes, revealing a large light brown mabari sniffing for the trail of his owner. Beatrice let out a small cry of relief, throwing her arms around her the hound who bound dutifully to her side. Duncan relaxed, feeling a sense of relief as he watched his recruit become reunited with a piece of her home. He turned away, finding it difficult to listen to her sobs of happiness. The hound bound back and forth, barking and whining as she somehow managed to laugh at him. When she was ready, she wiped away sign of tears and rose to her feet.

"Alright, Duncan," she stated sincerely. "I'm ready."

It was only a few more seconds of silence and a brief nod before they started their venture south. He knew very well the journey would be difficult for the young woman. Her body was able to enough to cross the length of the country. And her strength could carry her across the more difficult roads once they were off the highway. But he mental capacity limited her abilities. And she found herself stumbling among rocks, her feet becoming bruised in light the shoes she brought from her home. He turned to look over his shoulder from time to time to make sure she was alright. He could tell she was bruised even under the faint light of the moon. But her determined look told him she refused to stop.

"Alright," he said as sunrise grew near. "We should rest."

Beatrice let out a heavy sigh, throwing her hands to her knees as she bent over to catch her breath. There were scratches across her arms and chest from the tall brush she had carelessly blundered through. But in her mind, she was doing all that she could to forget about what had happened. The only thing she was focused on now was pressing forward behind Duncan to get Ostagar. She knew that once she was there, she could find Fergus.

"Ostagar is not much farther," he said, handing her a canteen.

"Good," she panted after taking heavy drinks. "Fergus will be there."

"My lady," Duncan hesitated. "I am not so sure you will be able to contact him immediately."

She kicked back the canteen one last time, taking in the last of the water. Just to be sure it was empty, she shook it. The only sound was the clanking of the lid against the metal container. With a sigh, she hung her head. Duncan was right. She knew he was.

"I'm sorry," she said, her lip quivering. "I know the Grey Wardens take priority. The war takes priority. It's just..."

"Don't apologize" Duncan stated firmly, kneeling before her. "You have been enough. But trust me when I say it can get worse."

His voice demanded her attention and she looked up. Looking into his eyes she wondered how he could be so calm. So composed. So confident. There was not any inch of him that told her she should doubt him at all.

"Beatrice... I traveled to Highever with every intention of convincing your father to allow you to join us."

"That's not possible. Why?" her brow lowered as she questioned him.

"Your skill as marksman is highly spoken of. Your brother, Fergus, is known in the South as well fought warrior. But the only person who could defeat him in anything is you. When word reached my ear that there was someone who could best him not only at range but at speed as well, I became interested."

A small smile grew on Beatrice's face. Memories flooded her mind as she remembered having a bow in her hands for the first time. Of watching her brother practice day after day with a sword. How determined she was to perfect the art of archery in order to prove to him she was good at something. And before long, she was the best in Highever. But she never knew her ability would eventually outshine her title as the Teyrin's daughter at the keep. Not to anyone outside, at the least.

* * *

 Everything about the Wilds was foreign to her. The worn keep, the humidity in the air, the muddied ground... it was all strange. And she hated every bit of it, despite how fascinating the history of Ostagar truly was. She wanted to be back in Highever, safely tucked away in bed. This time of day, she would have been reading in her room. Or sneaking out to have a chat with Gilmore while he patrolled. Regardless, she did not want to be strolling through the company of those she would soon battle alongside, as strange as they were.

For example, Beatrice had never seen a mage in her entire life. Yet, there was an entire camp of them in a corner in the fortress. And they called upon magic and entered the fade as if it were normal for them when, in fact, it was not normal for her at all. She stood for quite some time observing them in their state as the Templars continuously asked her to leave. She brushed them off and told them she was doing no harm. She truly wasn't. Or so she believed. There were also Ashe warriors preparing their hounds for battle. They painted the mabari with markings from dyes. Upon asking them about their techniques, they happily obliged her. Although their theories were strange, she liked them much better than the mages who were unable to educate her at all. She even thought about painting her own mabari.

Now, as the sun began to lower beyond the horizon, she knew she would have to set out to seek Alistair, the junior Grey Warden who would lead her through her journey to the Joining. But she had already decided she would wait until dusk to meet him. He must be a bitter old man. A teacher like she had when she was a child. Someone who would shove history and lectures down her throat until she could vomit knowledge to their liking. So instead of heading Duncan's words, she sat along the edge of a low wall, looking down at the Korcari Wilds. Her feet dangled and she kicked them back forth as she sharpened the tips of her arrows. She thought about her interaction with the King earlier. About his promise to help her seek vengeance against Howe. She thought about her brother scouting the Wilds without her, not knowing of the fate of their parents. She thought about Gilmore. And Nan. And everyone else at the keep. Fang, her mabari, rubbed against her when he saw she suddenly stopped running her rock against the arrowhead.

"Hey," she said softly, lifting her hand to run down his flank. "It isn't so bad."

He wined, nudging her further.

"King Cailan said we would get us justice. I believe in him. Don't you?"

All he did was sit, stare, and pant. But the look in his eyes told her he was hesitant. Not about getting to Howe, but about their life. Possibly about their fate.

"The Grey Wardens are good people. I wanted to become a great hero, didn't I? You knew part of me wanted this. Not in this way, but... That doesn't matter. We still have each other, boy. And there is nothing they could do to take you away from me. How could they? You are the smartest war hound the likes of them have seen!"

He took the compliment well, barking loudly and bounding away from her. His excitement caused her to laugh, the first time she had since they left Highever. Even a guard within earshot happened to chuckle. Beatrice cast a smile his way in order to acknowledge his presence. He shifted when he caught her glance and didn't seem to know what to say at first. But after some thought, he finally spoke.

"That's a loyal hound you have there," he said.

"He is," Beatrice nodded. "There are mabari at Ostagar. But Most of them are trained strictly for combat. They're kenneled at the other end of the fortress. I could mention something to the hound master so no one suggests kenneling yours."

"They wouldn't dare," her smile spread. "I've had Fang since I was just a kid. We grew up together. I don't think I'd get a decent sleep tonight unless he was by my side."

"You are a far way from home, my lady."

"You know who I am?" her brow rose hastily.

"Many of us do. There isn't much to do right now but gossip. As I'm sure you've noticed."

"Oh..." was all she could really say. "

Nothing to worry about," he smiled. "There are only good things spoken about you. And your brother."

"Good," she nodded. "I should get going, then. I have someone waiting for me."

"I bid you a good night, my lady."

"Please," she said after rising to her feet. "Call me Beatrice."


	2. The Wall that Stands

The stories and paintings of Ostagar that Beatrice had seen in her libraries back home were close in representation of how the fort truly existed. True, it was a bit overgrown with neglect. But many of the towers and crumbled walls remained. She almost felt comfortable lingering through the courtyards that were once settings to the tales her father used to read to her. What became difficult for her was how segregated the factions were despite joining under one cause. So after deciding her day had been filled with enough troubles, she sought out her junior Grey Warden. In which she only found more troubles.

When she arrived at the destined courtyard she was directed to meet him, she found an irate mage arguing with a younger and heavily armored young man. She lingered close enough to make her presence known but not so close as to where they could observe her eaves dropping. She leaned against a nearby pillar, simply listening in such a way that she used to when spying on Fergus. Though, she would never admit she was actually spying at all. She called it something along the lines of "character assessment". And during this act, she would read her target. More often than not, she was usually correct. It became a apparent rather quickly the young man, even with his age, was her junior. He was authoritative, but not demanding. And even though he seemed irritated, his voice did not raise. He remained upright, used expressive facial expressions, and spoke very clearly. Almost slowly as if he was mocking his comrade.

When the conversation was near an end, Beatrice stood upright, making small steps toward the center of the pavilion where the men stood. The mage admitted defeat, but not without adding insult just as he turned to exit their discussion. He brushed shoulders with Beatrice without bothering to acknowledge her approaching.

"You know," Alistair shook his head with a satisfied grin, "one good thing about the Blight is how it brings people together."

His hands were outward in a comical gesture as he took a few steps toward her. Because of Alistair, no simple greeting was good enough. Beatrice rested on her hip, crossing her arms with a cocked head.

"I don't think I've ever felt this welcomed," she teased in reply.

"It's like a party... We could all stand in a circle and hold hands. That would give the darkspawn something to think about," his smirk faded quickly as he locked eyes with her.

"Wait..." his voice dropped. "We haven't met yet, have we? I don't suppose you happen to me another mage?"

"Sorry to inform you, but no. No magic, here, I'm afraid. Just looking for someone," she proclaimed, knowing full well he was the one she was seeking.

"Then that makes you Duncan's new recruit, I suppose."

"Yes, yes, it does," she said confidently as she reached a hand out.

"Glad to meet you." He looked at it reluctantly as it was usually uncustomary for a woman to shake hands. Regardless, he grasped her hand with his, giving a firm shake as if he would a fellow soldier. "As the junior member of the order, I'll be accompanying you when you prepare for The Joining."

"Should be exciting," she grinned as they released hands.

"And you..."

"Beatrice."

"Right! That was the name," he pointed at her like it would help him remember. "You know it just occurred to me that there have never been many women in the Grey Wardens. I wonder why that is?"

"I don't think I could speak for others, but," she chuckled, "where I'm from, women are quite aware of how to handle themselves."

"I'm getting that impression," his planted smirk had widened but she could tell he was not ashamed of his response. "At any rate, I'm rather curious. Have you actually encountered darkspawn before?"

"No," she replied, her mind unwillingly flashing back to the fires in Highever. "No I have not."

"I've only fought them once up close. And that was before the battles here started. In which Duncan has kept me out of, so far."

"Can you tell me what they're like?" she asked.

"I had read so much," he shook his head. "But nothing could prepare you. I don't look forward to seeing them again."

"Truly?" her brow was raised. "It's getting rather ironic that I don't even know my worst enemies as of late."

"Perhaps we should get back to Duncan," he felt her tension rise. "I imagine he's eager to get things started."

"You're probably right," she sighed. " I could some distractions right now, anyway."

* * *

 Just as the sun rose, she would go into the Wilds.... at day break ... she would travel with men she had only just become acquainted with. One of which was an obvious womanizer, that kept winking at her every time she happened to glance at him. With a sigh and roll of the eyes, she turned to observe the other. He was far too nervous and caught up in surveying his inventory to talk to. The other, the junior Grey Warden was busy speaking with Duncan. But at least he was too involved with the conversation to notice her watching him. He was far beyond what she had expected him to be. And a part of her felt guilty for assuming he was some prude old half-wit.

In fact, Alistair was something entirely different. He was older than she was, but not much. And he was fit. And lively. Very lively. With a sense of humor. Resting her chin in a hand propped upon her knee, she bit down on the corner of her mouth out of habit during concentration, her book in the other hand all the while trying to eavesdrop on their conversation. Her hearing was not good enough to listen to what they were saying. But her sight was perfect and she could make out bits of words forming from their lips. Alistair might have been oblivious to her intentions, but Duncan was not. His occasional glances in her direction made her wary and she glanced down at her book every few seconds. But she could make out the words such as "darkspawn","blood" and "magic". Maker knew these were common terms for Grey Wardens. And she could figure as much. Still, she wondered if any of those things had anything to do with the Joining that had remained a secret.

"We have an early start tomorrow," Daveth spoke to her, interrupting her concentration and current thoughts.

Unfortunately, he was sleeping to the left of her... by choice. Or so she assumed because Jory was across the campfire. Not to mention, she heard Daveth speaking to several other women in Ostagar and knew he was looking for... something... more than comfort. It was typical in her eyes. And she simply just sighed with a hint of disgust.

"Yes, we do," she replied, lowering her eyes back to her book.

"Yet here we all are. In the middle of the night. Wide awake."

"A very accurate observation," she grumbled.

As much as she wanted to tell him she did not wish to be bothered, she found it difficult to find the proper words to be polite about the situation. So instead, she kept her responses short and continued to chew on the corners of her mouth. After the Joining, he would be her fellow Grey Warden. And she was sure her demeanor was already off-putting. There would be no point in making her reputation worse. With that in mind, she humored him in responding to his pointless chatter.

"What are you reading?" he asked.

"A book on Ferelden folklore. Just some childish tales."

"Anything good?"

Nothing about her position moved except for her stare peering over the ledge of her novel, her blue eyes gazing at him with disappointment. He shifted uncomfortably on his cot, catching the

signals she was sending in his direction.

"Right," he mumbled. "Forget I asked."

"I'm sorry," she sighed, letting the book fall loosely into her lap as she readjusted. "It is a collection of short stories. All of which are interesting and informative. I've heard the tales many times before. But the book was lent to me and it offers comfort for the time being."

"I wish I could get relief by such things."

"It can if you have the mind for it."

"I never liked reading."

"Such a shame," the words came out faster than she could think. Her sarcasm was not helping. It was clear he was as anxious as she. And the guilt came over faster than what she would have liked to admit. "I don't mean to sound so rude. I've had a rough couple of days getting here."

"So I've heard," he retorted. "Word is that you're some sort of noble."

"That seems to be the main topic around these parts," she retorted. "I suppose the word has spread around about my family as well."

"Yeah, that bit's been around," he hung his head. "I'm sorry for your loss."

Anger rushed through her. The last thing she wanted was for the entire camp to hear of her misfortune. She did not need their pity. She needed their help. If anything could be done, it would be to give her peace for her misfortune and send word to Fergus. Yet, no one could do such a thing. Her fists tightened and she sunk into her pillow as she tried to release her tension.

"I don't need your sympathy," her words came out more aggressively than she intended. "I need this battle to end as quick as possible."

Daveth lifted his gaze in adoration of her courage. Though, when he sought her confidence, he only found desperation. He quickly turned his attention elsewhere lest he draw more of her irritation to his curiosity. Fang was quick to calm her down, however. He tucked his nose under legs with a heavy sigh, his big brown eyes looking up at her. She smiled sweetly toward her companion, leaning forward to whisper into his aware ears.

"I can't read to you tonight," she explained. "But soon, I will. I promise."


	3. Witch Talk

It was quite late when Beatrice fell asleep that night. And it was very early when she rose without even the slightest hint of daylight. In fact, she was certain that sleep she had received was so little that she more than likely had not fallen asleep at all. Her mind had been filled with so many thoughts, she had ventured from one crisis to another all within a matter of hours. But when she heard the first chirp of the earliest bird, she rose with it. And it did not take long before her hair was up and her leathers were on. She would be roaming the camp just as the sun was rising. However, it just so happened that she was not the only.

Both Duncan and Alistair were awake as well, stirring the remains of the fire. She wondered if they were up all night but thought it was unlikely. Then again, she knew nothing about the life they lead yet and could not say for sure if sleep was even a necessary thing. Instead of disturbing them, she lingered off to the edge of the wall to perhaps catch a view of the sunset. Of course the west tower was off limits, but if she could get onto the bridge, she might just be able to see it over the Wilds. But just when she thought Fang was her only follower, she heard the sound of clinking armor.

"You walk faster than I thought," Alistair said, panting as he rushed up behind her.

"I didn't want to miss the sunrise," she replied.

"Ah, yes. Of course."

"You... don't like sunrises?"

"It's not the sunrises, really. They happen all the time. You can see them everyday. It's what that sunrise represents," he looked down at her. "Like a new beginning. And that could mean something that's happening. Somewhere you're passing through. Someone you're with."

"I take it you've had your sunrise," she looked blankly out to the horizon.

"My lady, I've had my share of sunrises," he assured her. "But don't let me discourage you from yours."

There was not a formation of words that could describe what she felt at that moment. Just simple and single words that came one at a time. Among them were compassion, strength, renewal, breathe, selflessness, courage, and kindness. All the while, she watched the sky turn different shades of pink and orange and felt the air become heavy with humidity as dew was spread over the land. Every tale had their beginning. Every hero had their day. And she had decided from that point that this sunset was her beginning and this day would be her day. And Alistair was right, though he stood silently beside her now.

"Alistair, I don't want you to think I should be special because-"

"But you are," he cut her off. "You are special. So you'll probably get looks of pity. And maybe some of guilt. And I'll treat you with just as much respect as anyone else. But, Beatrice, if there is anyone here who needs to feel like they belong somewhere... it's you."

His eyes were filled with sadness and worry. It was enough to make her cheeks burn red with anger and her eyes hot with tears. To make her fists clench at her sides. To make her bite the inside of her cheek until it tasted like metal. But her pride had been compromised days ago. And no matter how hard she tried to fight it, he was right. The entire camp knew she had lost almost everything. There was no where for her to go unless she wanted to marry someone unwillingly. She would rather die for a good cause. And traveling with Duncan had convinced her enough to do just that. She admired him. And after speaking with Alistair, she admired him too. So for the remainder of the morning, they stood staring out into the orange sky until Alistair finally mentioned that they others would be waking soon.

* * *

 The Wilds were filled with howls and thick fog. There was a foul stench that accompanied them and everyone the party stepped, their boots would sink into mud. For Daveth and Beatrice, this was no so much of an issue as they were not only lightly dressed, but also light on their feet. Alistair, leading them through the swamp, struggled with his steps as if being clumsy was not trouble enough. Jory remained in the back, though at a distance as he was struggling as well. With all the noise the small group was making, Beatrice was sure the darkspawn could hear them coming from miles away. Luckily for the rest of the group, her sight was particularly keen and it was not long before she saw something stirring in the muck.

"There's movement among those dead," she pointed while squinting through the haze.

"So there is," Alistair said disbelief under his breath.

They made their way hastily toward the carnage. All men and women of an unknown banner. Corpses in heaps in pools of blood. It was nothing like she had ever seen before. And the amounts of crude decorations out of body parts made her question what sort of Maker would allow cruel beasts like this to exist, even as punishment.

"Who's... there?" the voice croaked as they approached. "Grey Wardens?"

"Well, he's not half as dead as he looks, is he?" Alistair jested over the sound of flies.

"My scouting band was attacked by darkspawn," he struggled to speak. "They came out of the ground. Please help me. I've got to return to camp. If you could just... bandage me up, I can get back myself."

"I have bandages in my pack," Alistair said while reaching toward his pack, kneeling down closer to the wounded man.

It was almost too much to look at. From his face to his leather boots, the man was covered in blood. His armor was torn beyond repair and his wounds were deep. He was lucky to be alive. And because he was a witness to the early battles of Ostagar, Beatrice knew she had to take advantage of what he knew.

"How many bands of you were there?" she asked.

"I don't know," he shook his head. "A lot."

"What about from HIghever? Do you know their heraldry?"

"Of course," he gave a slight nod. "Fergus and his men arrived early. They were scouting the north last I heard."

"The north? You're sure?" she continued to question.

"That's just what I heard, my lady."

The noises around her suddenly muffled as she rose with questioned flooding her head. Why would scouts be sent to the north? Why hadn't word reached Ostagar of her family? Why hadn't Fergus been notified? She knew how the birds flew across Fereldan. And it didn't feel right that she was the only being in the south to know of what happened. Surely, there was someone who would have arrived faster than they to deliver the news. However, her current state did not allow her to worry about her only living sibling. Instead, she was forced to listen of the worries of another comrade as he stressed his concern about the darkspawn that they would be fighting. Though at this point, Beatrice was convinced the living were far more dangerous than the darkspawn.

* * *

 Humans were deceptive. They were unpredictable. Each one has their own agenda. With their own goal in mind. No one is ever truly working for themselves. And because of that reason, Beatrice as right. They were worse than darkspawn. Those monsters worked under one leader for one cause. And there was no questioning why they were doing it. It simply for the sake of destruction and chaos. While she could agree that evil was consistent with every darkspawn she fought, she could agree that nothing could prepare her. Just as Alistair said.

The sounds were heavy breathing, metal against metal, and grunts of her comrades. She saw mud flying into the air, the occasional burst of magic, and mists of blood. She felt her calves pulsing as she moved back and forth in the distances, drawing her bow quickly to aid those who dealt combat at a closer range. She could feel the mud drying on her face. And because she was a distance fighter, she could see the filth forming on those around her. It was beyond mid-day, drawing even nearer to sunset. Just in the distance, they could see the ruins of where their final journey would lead them. But it had already been hell getting there.

"Is everyone alright?" Alistair asked as they gather at the base of the hill.

"I think so," Daveth replied, taking a quick look around him. "We had some good cover."

"That we did," Beatrice winked at her fellow rogue.

"Then... we should keep moving. Right?" Jory was still catching catching his breath, but eager to continue.

"Yeah, that's the same location marked on the map just ahead. An old tower," she gathered from memory.

"We should be careful," Alistair insisted. "This area hasn't been touched in years. Keep your weapons drawn."

Stories of the Wilds were stretched all across Thedas. They were more than often frightening, describing either savage tribes or cannibal witches. Beatrice, on the other hand, had quite an interest in history. And she knew the signs of Chasind when she saw them. Though, the ruins around her were not that old. The swamp had taken the abandoned buildings, claiming it for itself, and sinking much of it into the mud. The only thing that stood above it all was the remnants of the tower. She knew there would be nothing left of what the Grey Wardens sought. So it was no surprise when Alistair opened a broken chest covered in moss.

"There's nothing here," he said.

In which, why would there be? The Wilds had long been looted. And the land had it's own way of taking care of things. Whoever took it was long gone or dead. Either way, the treaties were no longer there. Beatrice wondered to herself why anyone would have thought it was a good idea to leave important information like that in a chest located in a forsaken keep. It was beyond her compression, but she did not dare question her authority.

"Well, well," a smooth voice came from afar. "What have we here?"

A woman with dark hair and golden eyes descended a broken stair case. Her sudden arrival made the lot jump as she spoke, as none of them had anticipated another entity nearby. In fact, Beatrice was quite certain she was not there before nor were there any signs of anyone being near the tower. She clung tightly to the grip of her bow as something about this woman was unsettling.

"Are you a vulture, I wonder? A scavenger poking amidst a corpses bones who have long since been cleaned? Or merely, an intruder," she went on as she walked slowly, "coming into these darkspawn filled Wilds of mine in search of easy prey..."

Beatrice began to round the group, growing closer to the woman as she grew closer to them. No one else moved. Uncertainty and cautioun had the better of them. But she was prepared to make first contact when all others struggled in hopes that her actions would reflect upon the Joining. When the two locked eyes, the woman stopped.

"What say you?" she crossed her arms as she narrowed her painted eyes. "Scavenger or intruder?"

"Neither," Beatrice answered clearly, her voice echoing off the wall. "Or maybe both, by your standards. The Grey Wardens once owned this tower."

"'Tis a tower no longer. The Wilds have obviously claimed this desecrated corpse," she shook her head as she began to pace around them again with a heavy sigh. "I have watched your progress for sometime. 'Where do they go?' I wondered. 'Why are they here?' And now you disturb ashes none have touched for so long. Why is that?"

"Don't answer her," Alistair spoke softly, having approached her. "She looks Chasind. And that means others may be nearby.

"Woah-ho," the woman chuckled from the mound she stood upon. "You fear barbarians may swoop down upon you!"

"Yes," Alistair mumbled. "Swooping is bad."

Beatrice could't hold back the smirk forming on her face. If only the other two could be a bit more lighthearted. But Jory was sweating, his hand clenched so tightly at the hilt of his sword she was afraid he would making a brash decision. And Daveth looked as if he had seen some sort of ghost, his face pale and teeth chattering. Not really chattering, but she could imagine it so.

"She's a Witch of the Wilds, she is," he stammered. "She'll turn us into toads!"

"Witch of the Wilds? Such idle fancies, those legends. Have you no minds of your own?" the woman grinned, her hand on her hips as she enjoyed the faltering of men. Her gaze fell to Beatrice, and her hands fell as well. "You there... women do not fright like little boys. Tell me your name and I shall tell you mind."

"Beatrice," she answered. "My name is Beatrice."

"And you may call me Morrigan, if you wish," her voice has lowered and it was softer than it had been before. "Shall I guess your purpose? You sought something in that chest. Something that is here no longer?

"Here no longer?" Alistair blurted. "You stole it didn't you? You're some kind of ... sneaky... witch thief!"

"Alistair," Beatrice hissed over her shoulder.

"How eloquent. How does one steal from dead men?"

"Quite easily it seems," he ignored the slight nudge he was given. "Those documents are Grey Warden property. And I suggest you return them."

"I will not... for it was not I who removed them. Invoke a name that means nothing here any longer if you wish... I am not threatened."

"These are your Wilds," Beatrice spoke before he could. "Surely, you know of who would have taken what we came here for."

Morrigan smiled sweetly. "'Twas my mother, in fact."

"You're serious?" her arm had completely loosened at the point without a single of thought of drawing an arrow in defense. "Your mother?"

"Not all in the Wilds are monsters. Flowers grow as well as toads. If you wish, I will take you to her. 'Tis not far from here and you may ask her for your papers if you'd like."

"We should get those treaties, but," Alistair said in a hushed voice, "I dislike like this... Morrigan's sudden appearance."

Beatrice nodded to acknowledge his concern but brushed him aside as she turned back to their host. "I wouldn't really know if you were lying about the treaties, would I?" she shouted.

"Have I been dishonest?"

"Again, I wouldn't really know. You have no reason to want to help us."

"I suppose not... but I do not meet many people here. Are you all so mistrustful?"

"We're in an area document to be inhabited by savages"

"Fair enough," Morrigan sighed.

"But if you were lying, the chances of us just walking away from here empty handed are unlikely."

"But of course," the witch shrugged her shoulders.

"Does this solve your hesitance?" Beatrice turned to her junior.

"Actually," he thought for a moment. "It does."

"Let's follow Morrigan, then."

"She'll put us all in the pot, she will," Daveth warned them. "Just you watch!"

"If the pots warmer than the forest, it will be a nice change," Jory snapped.

"Follow me, then... if it pleases you..." she beckoned, turning her back to them as she tread lightly down the hill.

Alistair followed her, glancing over his shoulder to make sure the rest of his followers were trailing behind him. Beatrice was at his heels, watching the witch eagerly as she lead them downward and back into the swamp. Daveth was behind her and Jory had lead the back, just as he did before. All of their hearts rattled against their rib cages. But all for different reasons. Alistair was cautious and nervous, wondering if he would be able to protect the others as the junior member of the Grey Wardens. Daveth was frightened beyond repair, his upbringing instilling superstition into his mindset. Jory was a bit of both, though at this point, he was mostly just tired. His body had started to ache from the moments of standing still. Then there was Beatrice, who's heart raced of excited-ness. Morrigan was a rare type of person, nothing like she had ever met before. She found her interesting and wanted to know more. Though, she knew people that were so uncommon were not so likely to speak on the occasion of their culture. And unfortunately, Beatrice also knew the chances of ever having a chance like this again... was one in a million...


	4. A Pendant of Blood

As the sun set behind the mountains to the west, the sky began to clear. The clouds had disappeared and the fog had disappeared along with it. The air was thinner and the cool night seemed much more manageable because of it. The camp seemed rather lively, as well, lifting the spirits of the recruits as they made their way to the courtyard where the Joining would be held.

"What do you think the blood is for?" Beatrice wondered out loud.

"Not sure," Daveth shook his head. "But we got a lot of it."

Jory staggered as Daveth nudged him unexpectedly. "That we did," he agreed. "We made a good a team."

"We had a good balance," she patted his shoulder. "But it makes me wonder what else the Grey Wardens houses."

"What do you mean?" Jory questioned, his curiosity sparked.

"Like mages, for instance," she went on. "They would be beyond jurisdiction of the Circle, wouldn't they? But we haven't seen any since we've been camped here."

"I'm sure all that will come later," Daveth reassured her. "For now, let's just get on with it."

"Do any of us actually know what's going on?" Beatrice asked, slowing her pace as she saw their destination ahead.

"I don't know," Jory admitted, leaning against the wall closest to the stair case. "But the more I hear about it, the less I like it."

"Oh, are you blubbering again?" Daveth teased.

"Why all these damn tests? Have I not earned my place?" his face had turned serious. 

"Maybe it's tradition," the rogue attempted to ease the situation. "Or maybe they're just trying to annoy you."

"Alright, alright," Beatrice hushed them. "We don't have time for this. We should get to Duncan before he starts looking for us."

"All I know," Jory said, leading the way up the stairs, "is that my wife is in Highever with a child on the way. If they had warned me I-"

Beatrice froze behind him. Had he not realized who she was? Surely, he had recognized her. More importantly, how had she not recognized him? Had she been so blind during her journey? It was not fear that struck her, but disappointment. It still sent a cold spell down her spine, making her legs shake as she attempted to make her steps.

"It just doesn't seem fair," he looked behind him, interrupting her thoughts.

"Would you have come if they warned you?" Daveth asked from the back. "Maybe that's why they don't. The Wardens do what they must, right?"

"Including sacrificing us?"

"I'd sacrifice a lot more if I knew it would end the Blight," the words came sincerely from Daveth's own mouth.

"We're all here for the same reasons," Beatrice finally managed to say. "Let's not forget that."

"I've just... never faced a foe I could not engage with my blade,"Jory said softly.

They had reached the top of the stair case to the platform, the columns holding braziers lit with bright flames. Standing in the center was Duncan, cradling a chalice between two hands. And next to him was Alistair, who refused to look up from his stoic gaze. 

"At last... we have come to the joining," Duncan said with relief.

He waited for them to stand in line before him. They could tell he was full of pride as he looked each of them in the eye. But something was amiss and the worry on his face was more than enough to tell them perhaps the rumors had been true. Nevertheless, Beatrice was prepared. She didn't want to believe she had nothing left to lose. No... instead... she wanted to believe she had more to fight for. Even if her family was gone and Fergus had been missing for days, she still told herself that there was a country to fight for. People to defend. And if nothing else, Fang was waiting by the fire for her to come back. She would not let him down. 

"They Grey Wardens were founded during the First Blight, when humanity stood on the verge of annihilation. So it was that the first Grey Wardens drank of darkspawn blood. And mastered their taint."

"We're... going to drink the blood of those... those creatures," Jory said in disgust.

"As the first Grey Wardens did before us, as we did before you. This is the source of our power. And our victory."

"Those who survive the Joining become immune to the taint," Alistair spoke "We can sense it, and the darskpawn, and use it to slay the Archdemon."

"This is why it is kept a secret," Beatrice let her words slip, but no one responded to her.

"We speak only a few words prior to the Joining," Duncan went on. "But these words have been said since the first. Alistair... if you would."

Alistair looked at him for a moment, knowing that what he was about to say would initiate a ritual that could damn the few people he had spent the last few days with. He was filled with hurt, but still, he knew his duty. And he looked down, away from the familiar faces, to draw his strength.

"Join us brothers and sisters. Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant. Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be forsworn. And should you perish... know that you're sacrifice will not be forgotten. And know that one day, we shall join you." 

"Daveth," Duncan said immediately afterward, reaching toward their line. "Step forward."

The rogue from Denerim took the chalice into his hands, looking down into the cup filled with dark liquid he knew was the blood of his enemies. He did not looked lost at all, but determined. Beatrice found comfort in his courage as he lifted the brim of the cup to his mouth. He took three slow and steady drink before lowering his hold. The calm expression he held became askew, turning his face into something unnatural. The chalice was taken from his hands, lest the blood be spilt as Daveth staggered, away from the rest of them. He fell to his knees, his hands grasping his throat as he gasped for air. His eyes opened, showing nothing but white as he convulsed backward. It was a moment that lasted forever, but merely took only seconds as it his body fell lifeless and his heart stopped.

"I am sorry, Daveth."

She heard the words, but did not feel their sincerity. When Beatrice looked at Duncan, she could tell he had seen his fair share of deaths and Joinings. And she figured it was to the point it was normal for him. She hoped it was still disturbing to him in some sort of way. But he had somehow found a way to cope with it. Just as Alistair did as he prayed quietly next to his superior.

"Step forward, Jory," he said, turning to the next in line.

"But..." Jory stepped away, his eyes fixated on Daveth's corpse, "I have a wife."

His eyes filled with panic, darting between the faces that surrounded him. He was completely unaware of his surroundings. And when his back hit the wall behind him, a moment of terror struck, causing him to reach behind for his sword.

"Jory," her tremored voice was almost a whisper as she tried to reason with him.

"I have a child," his voice shook. "Had I known..."

It was a saying he had been repeating since he had arrived. His hesitance was a sign that he would not pass the Joining. Beatrice understood that. And she wished the consequences were not as fatal as they appeared. She looked away as Duncan handed the chalice to Alistair. She heard the unsheathing of metal. 

"There is no turning back."

"No," he begged. "You ask too much! There is no glory in this!"

Tears formed in her eyes and ran down her cheeks the tighter she closed them. There was a sound of a sword blocking, two blades gliding, and then the unevitable thud of a blad piercing the body of it's victim. Words were spoken once again, but she did not here them. She refused to open her eyes. She did not want to see the carnage before her just as she took the cup. She turned her back to them, facing out toward the stairs. She could see the lights of the camp. The place that had been her home for the last two days. And with any luck, she would be able to create a better name for herself within it. She prayed to Andraste, begging for more than just strength. But for wisdom. For courage. For peace.

"The Joining is not yet complete..."

Marriage was never something she had planned. She had always aruged that the person she would marry would be someone she loved. Not someone that she would benefit from. Her parents never disagreed with her reasoning. However, they wondered if anyone would be brave enough to marry their daughter.

"You are called upon to submit yourself..." 

Beatrice knew this. She knew she was difficult. She knew no man would want to willingly submit to her, or give her any sort of freedom. And she also knew that if a man were to grant her the one thing she desired in marriage, it was that of a man not of nobility. She would be sacrificing her own status in the name of what she truly believed was happiness.

"To the taint... for the greater good..."

So she was not only accepting, but welcoming to the fact that she would become someone that others looked up. A soldier to Highever, and possibly even Thedas. She had already made a name for herself, becoming one of the greatest marksman of the north. Her heart was set on becoming a woman of valor. And there was no higher honor than being a Grey Warden. She recited that thought as she took the chalice from Alistair. 

As the liquid hit the back of her throat, she saw flashes of her family's faces. She saw the fires burning through her home. She saw the guards accepting their deaths. Her family had been loyal to Thedas. And now, there was a threat greater than their own. If there was anything left to live for, surely it was the Grey Wardens. This purpose was above anything she had imagined.

"From this moment forth... you are a Grey Warden."

The world faded to black and her knees fell with it. Her mind was overwhelmed with some sort of chanting or even singing. She could not make out the words but it made her head hurt. She shut her eyes, pressing her palms into her skull in an attempt to alleviate the pain. Instead, she saw nothing but green, a faded imagine of a dragon. It's roar sung over the rest of the chattering, sending her forward and onto the ground. She cried out, rolling over onto her back and stretching her reach into her hair. It was as loud as thunder and spread through her brain like lightening.   
Then, it was suddenly gone. What must have been hours faded away like a simple flash. And when she opened her eyes, Duncan was hovering over her, Alistair just above him. They both seemed pleased, despite the fact that two others remained dead on the floor around her.

"It is finished," Duncan claimed, grabbing her arm to help her stand. "Welcome..." 

It was all she could do to accept his assistance. Her entire existence was weak: physically, mentally, emotionally. 

"Two more deaths," she heard Alistair say. "In my Joining, only one of us died. But it was... horrible. I'm glad at least one of you made it through."

"How do you feel?" Duncan asked when she rose.

"I'm... I'm not sure," she said, her sight still struggling to be clear.

"Such is what it takes to be a Grey Warden." 

"Did you have dreams?" Alistair was quick to ask. "I had terrible dreams after my Joining."

"Such dreams come when you begin to sense the darkspawn, as we all do. That and many other things can be explained in the months to come."

"Before I forget... there is one last part to your Joining," Alistair reached in a pouch at his side. "We take some of that blood and put it in a pendant. Something to remind us... of those who didn't make it this far."

The world was shaking around her. No. Her entire body was shaking despite the entire world standing still. There was still sweat on her brow. There was still a slight tinge of pain pulsing through her temples. But as she reached out to take the pendant from his hands, she felt a sense of relief. Even as ominous as it seemed, there was some strange sort of comfort that came with it. She unclasped the back with ease and brought her hands behind her neck. Without gloves, she knew her sweaty hands would be no use putting the necklace on. Even still, the gloves provided to be of no use to her here and her trembling did not help at all.

"Here," Alistair said, finally stepping forward.

She was still in a bit of a haze and only released her grasp when she felt his hands close to the back of her neck, wanting to take the chain from her . He adjusted the necklace pulling it closer to get a better look. She lifted her hair to assist him and hung her head low. It had been some time since he had lain eyes on a woman. And he could not lie to himself that she was not beautiful. So he regretted the moment he offered his assistance to her. His own hands began to shake as he eyed the crook in her neck. However, all thoughts were cleared the second Duncan cleared his throat. And he quickly hooked the clasp around the opening, dropping the necklace to let it fall loose around her collar.


	5. The Tower and The Hut

The night sky was clear. And without the wind, the keep was deathly quiet. Men and women lined up outside it's walls, looking out above the hill in search of the enemy's torches. The ground shook and they felt their footsteps. The darkspawn would be there soon. Beatrice looked to Alistair, his face stern as he looked intently at the tower. He was angry that he was not allowed to be with Duncan. And she felt partially responsible. If she had no been there, he could have fought at his mentor's side.

_She blinked._

The battle echoed with chaotic sounds and cries. Her feet could not carry her fast enough. From the corner of her eye, she could see fire flying through the air. Some much larger than the others. She wished her balance would come back to . But with all the noise, she found it hard to concentrate. She stumbled, grabbing the wall. She faltered. He reached back to grab her arm. And when he did, she took his forearm into her hand. He shot back a surprised glance, but did not let go. They did not release until they were past the bridge, now scorched and damaged from the trebuchets below.

_She blinked._

The courtyard was surrounded by darkspawn. And she suddenly felt tension rise as their situation had become complicated. The guard looked frightened. But the mage was focused. With Alistair leading them, they pushed their way to the door. With each dead foe she passed, she reached down, yanking her arrows knowing she would need to reuse them. The more she let her arrows fly, the more lethal her shots became. Before long, she was finding it difficult to remove the tips from their skulls. Or sometimes, their eye sockets. Her expression became smug.

_She blinked._

And then she had lost her confidence. The floor had collapsed. The entire floor of the room was gone. No one else was alive in the tower. They were the last stand for the camp. If the darkspawn got inside, their fight would be lost. Alistair turned, his brow lowered. He looked her in the eye and didn't say a word. Her fist tightened around her bow and the strap of her quiver. They knew what must be done. The next door opened, welcoming the advances of yet another group of darkspawn. At least Alistair had all the fighting he wanted.

_She looked around her, seeing only blurred images filled with black spots._

Blood soaked the cobblestone floors. Skulls were hung from spears, some with faces and some without. Strange growths appeared along the floor accompanied by the smell of something foul. It was similar to the smell of death. Bodies were littered and sprawled out from corner to corner, everywhere she turned. Some looked like they had been torn apart. Others had been hung for decoration. Her inside curled, wanting to exit as soon as possible. But she would not let them. She had seen the same thing in the Wilds. But that was something entirely different.

_A shadow leaned over her and she felt something cold on her face. She blinked._

The sound was something horrific. It shook the ceiling. It shook the walls. And it shook the door at the top of the stair case, causing the hinges to squeak ever so slightly. The four exchanged glances with one another. They were all exhausted. The guard was bleeding from his shield bearing arm, a piece of a broken arrow emitting from it. The mage was panting, likely not equipped with stamina for such an occasion. His mana had also been depleted several times. And his robes were torn. Alistair was still sturdy, though catching his breath for the moment. Beatrice wished he had something clever to say. She was nearly out of arrows

_A hand replaced the cold cloth, patting her forehead, cheeks, neck. It felt comforting._

"Alistair!" she cried, watching the warrior tumble to the side after a sloppy dodge.

"Save your arrows for when it counts!" he shouted back, seeing her shot aimed at the back of the ogre.

It was covered in armor. And it's skin was thick. Alistair did what he could to distract it, including getting beaten into the floor. The guard struck at it's hind quarters. And the mage did what he could to weaken it. It was up to Beatrice to make her strikes count. She waited for it to turn its head toward her. She aimed for anything above the chest: the eyes, the mouth, the neck... anything that made it roar out of pain. When it's face was littered with arrows and it's body covered in cuts, it was time to bring it down. Alistair threw himself onto it while it was weak, his mass forcing it to crash to the ground. His blade plunged into it's head. And it fell lifeless before them.

_"Your fever is breaking," a familiar voice said. "But don't try to force yourself. Just a bit longer and you'll be fine."_

"Light the fire!" Alistair commanded.

And the mage obliged, shooting a ball of flame into the flue. The wood cracked at the sounds, sending a puff of smoke into the air followed by a roaring flame that signalled the battlefield. Their mission had succeeded. But the silence they heard made them feel lost. They stood in the tower, awaiting for somethin. Another signal, a messanger, anything. But nothing came. And when they heard the sound of armor clanking as bodies rushed up the stairs, they were eager to received orders. Their impatience placed them at a disadvantage. And they fell to the burst of arrows unleashed as more darkspawn flooded the stairwell.

_Her eyes saw nothing for the moment they were open, but she heard the crackles of fire and felt her hands run across soft bed sheets._

Everything went dark. And when she opened her eyes, all she saw was fire. And all she heard was the sound of wings beating against the wind. Everything hurt. Her ribs were crushed. Her abdomen was bleeding. Her eyes were heavy. Her face was wet. And her lips tasted like metal. They were dry and cracked, her tongue sticking when she tried to wet them. The brief moment of utter pain caused her to lash out before her sight became surrounded by darkness once again.

_She grasped them, her senses returning to her. She could see a single room. She could hear fire and someone rummaging through the things around her. She could feel a solid bell. And she could smell food. A cold nose pressed against her hand and she welcomed it with an open palm._

"Ah! Your eyes finally open," the voice said as dark blur came toward the side of her bed. "Mother shall be pleased."

Fang whined beside her, licking her until her hand and the sheet beneath it was soaked.

"He has not left your side... unfortunately. And he refuses to listen to anything I have to say."

"You..." Beatrice struggled, still aching as she sat up in her bed. "I remember you from the Wilds. Morrigan."

"That's right, " the witch said slowly. "I'm Morrigan and we are in the Wilds. Where I am bandaging your wounds."

Beatrice couldn't help but smile, finding the irony in an apostate harbored in the Wilds doing the best she could to make herself clear to a weary victim. Others would have cowered in her presence. But the face that Morrigan wanted Beatrice to make certain she heard her correctly as she explained herself made her feel welcome. She drug herself to the edge of the bed, teetering with her body weight as she found her balance.

"You are welcome by the way," she smirked. "How does your memory fare? Do you remember Mother's rescue?"

She thought back to the sound of flapping wings. "I'm not sure what I remember," Beatrice grumbled. "What happened to the Grey Wardens. To the King?"

"The man who was to respond to your signal quit the field," Morrigan replied. "The darkspawn won your battle. Those he abandoned were massacred. Your friend... he is not taking it well."

Her eyes shot open. "Alistair? Is he here with me?"

"The suspicious dim-witted one who was with you from before? Yes. He is outside by the fire," she notioned toward that door. "He'll be waiting with Mother. She asked to see you when you awoke."

"Did anyone else survive?"

"Only stragglers that are long gone. You would not want to see what is happening in that valley, now."

"Long gone?" Beatrice repeated quietly. "Exactly how long have I been out?"

Morrigan's lips pouted as she looked off into the distance, her head bobbing back and forth as she counted the days. "Three or four days," she estimated. "You've been fading in and out for the last two."

"Long enough then," she scooted forward, he hands at the edge of the bed and her feet planted ahead of her. "Were my injuries that severe?"

"Yes," she answered as-a-matter-of-factly. "But I expect you shall be fine. The darkspawn did nothing mother could not heal.

"Come here."

"What?"

"You've been helping me, right?" she beckoned for Morrigan's assistance. "Come here. I need you to help me stand."

"I was hoping you'd be able to do so on your own," she grumbled as she grabbed Beatrice's forearms. "But apparently, I was wrong."

"I was hoping you'd be uphold you compassionate bedside manner. But apparently, I was wrong as well," Beatrice retorted, pulling herself onto her feet with a slightly wobble as she rose.

"You got me there," Morrigan smirked when she released her.

"All jests aside, thank you. For everything that you've done."

"I... you are welcome. Though, Mother did most of the work. I am no healer."

"Of course," Beatrice simply nodded. "I'l just... get dressed and meet with the others outside."

"I will stay and make something to eat."

Basic human interaction was obviously something Morrigan was unfamiliar with. Other than the obvious fact that she was raised outside of civilization, her mannerisms and awkward responses to kindness were indications that she had likely had very few plesent encounters with people. As Beatrice struggled to put her clothes back, she watched Morrigan minding the fire and the cauldron, her eyes not once darting in her direction. She did not wish to overstay her welcome. So after she pulled her hair back into a ribbon, she went for the door.

When she opened it, she was welcomed by the Wilds with smells and sounds that were a little too overwhelming for her recovery. It was just as she remembered, though; a small clearing next to a pool of water that was probably more desirable than most of the bodies of water in the swamp. Standing next to it was Morrigan's mother. And next to her, with his back facing her direction, was Alistair.

"See? Here is your fellow Grey Warden. You worry too much, young man."

He spun around, his eyes swelling with tears. She felt her eyes beginning to water as well, and wasn't sure if it was reaction of pity or if she was truly just as happy to see him. He looked incredibly overjoyed to see her standing before him to the point it was almost unbelievable. Then again, she was the only Grey Warden left.

"Beatrice... you're alive," his voice cracked. "I thought you were dead for sure."

"Not this time, Alistair," she smiled sweetly.

His mouth opened, but he quickly shut it, wanting to say more but perhaps not quite knowing the right words. His hesitation was followed by a moment of silence in which they looked at each other. His eyes cast down and he shook his head, his right hand reaching up to clasp his shoulder.

"This just doesn't seem real," he said softly. "If it weren't for Morrigan's mother, we'd be dead on top of that tower."


End file.
